


you will still be here tomorrow (but your dreams may not)

by raziraphale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode AU: s15e20 Carry On, Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Family Dinners, First Kiss, Fix-It, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Photographs, Requited Love, Resurrected Castiel (Supernatural), Reunions, Survivor Guilt, Team Free Will 2.0 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28922763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raziraphale/pseuds/raziraphale
Summary: “I won’t be hands on. Chuck put himself in the story. That was his mistake. But I learned from you, and my mother, and Castiel that… when people have to be their best… they can be. And that’s what to believe in.”“But what about you? Is that really what you want?”Dean’s question gave the newborn God pause. The serene expression on his face folded a little in confusion, head tilting just a little to the side. He looked so much like Cas when he did that, Dean had always thought, but now the sight made something clench in his chest.“I don’t understand,” God replied, and wasn’t that just the damnedest thing? God, a child standing in the middle of the road, knowing both everything and nothing at all?...Jack struggles to figure out his new role as God, determined not to turn out like Chuck. Luckily, he has his family to help him through it.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Claire Novak, Jack Kline & Dean Winchester, Jack Kline & Sam Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	you will still be here tomorrow (but your dreams may not)

**Author's Note:**

> So, after the finale happened I may have binged all of Supernatural in too little time and caught up with the show for the first time in 5+ years... what can I say but Yikes! Anyway, while I was convinced that the thing that would upset me most about the ending would be the lack of Castiel follow-up, when I actually got to the end I was pissed about Jack. Imagine spending time preventing Jack from sacrificing himself to kill God but then have him basically sacrifice his life anyway. So please enjoy this self-indulgent alternate ending where Jack has a little help figuring out the whole God thing, Carry On basically doesn't exist, and Cas is a little more alive by the end!
> 
> title is from cat stevens' "father and son" bc it makes me cry ugly tears

_“What if we want to see you? You know, or have a beer or whatever?”_

_“I’m around. I’ll be in every drop of falling rain, every speck of dust that the wind blows, and in the sand, in the rocks, and the sea.”_

_[…]_

_“I won’t be hands on. Chuck put himself in the story. That was his mistake. But I learned from you, and my mother, and Castiel that… when people have to be their best… they can be. And that’s what to believe in.”_

~*~

“But what about you?”

Dean’s question gave the newborn God pause. The serene expression on his face folded a little in confusion, head tilting just a little to the side. He looked so much like Cas when he did that, Dean had always thought, but now the sight made something clench in his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Dean tried again “is that really what you want?”

“I don’t understand,” God replied, and wasn’t that just the damnedest thing? God, a child standing in the middle of the road, knowing both everything and nothing at all? “This isn’t about what I want.”

“Jack…” Sam started softly, but the name still felt too harsh, the pointed edges of it scratching at the air. God was everywhere, yet at the sound of his name he seemed a little bit more s _omewhere_. Jack. A certain group of molecules, a certain set of bones, a certain set of clothes that rustle as he moved, restless and human. _Jack_. He seemed to sway on his feet.

“Jack,” Sam said again, choosing his words carefully as he always did “You saved the world. You deserve to live just as much as everyone else you gave a second chance to today. I mean, you’re still just a kid.”

Jack’s face screwed up in frustration. It was the same expression he gave when he was left behind on a case, left to sulk in the bunker or in the backseat of the car. He looked younger than he had in days, weeks, months. “I’m not a kid. I can do this. I can –”

“That’s not what he meant,” Dean interjected, voice even “ _We_ were never kids. People raised in the life, hunters, they never really get the chance to. You deserve to be a stupid kid, Jack. You deserve a break.” Dean sighed, and it felt like he was releasing decades’ worth of stale air. “Hell, we all deserve a break.”

“What do you want to do, Jack?” Sam nudged when Jack didn’t say anything. “Forget about God for a second. What do _you_ want to do?” A moment passed, then another. The street bustled with life, the sound of people refusing to let silence fall between them. A tear snuck down Jack’s cheek, betrayed by the way the track down his face glinted in the afternoon sun. He didn’t move to wipe it away.

“I – I can’t,” Jack forced out, seemingly trying to convince himself just as much as anyone “I can’t turn into Chuck. I have to follow the rules, so I –”

“Fuck the rules!” Dean shouted, unable to stop himself. Jack jumped a little in surprise, but Dean pressed on before he could linger on the fact that he made _God_ flinch. “If you learn _anything_ from us, it should be that rules are meant to be broken! _Especially_ if you break them for the right reasons – for family.”

Jack’s face fell suddenly, blank and unsettling. “I’m not family.”

Dean could feel Sam looking at him, that all-to-familiar look of disappointment, but he didn’t turn to look. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the hollow certainty of Jack’s voice, his own words thrown back at him.

“Kid,” Dean said, “With everything going on these past few months – hell, our entire _lives_ inside that frigging hamster wheel – it was just easier if you weren’t family.” Dean sighed. “Jack, I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to you, none of it was. We were always losing you, and it would’ve been a hell of a lot easier for me if you weren’t family.” Dean made sure to hold Jack’s gaze. His eyes were glassy, and so, so young. “But you _are_ family. Don’t make us lose you again.”

Jack opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Sam didn’t give him another chance to try.

“Jack,” Sam said, slowly stepping closer to Jack as if he were attempting to approach a stray cat “Chuck wasn’t what he was because he was too involved, or too invested in the story. He ended up where he did because he didn’t care about people. He only cared about what people could do for him.” Sam paused, only an arm’s length away from the God of a new world. “You’re a good person, Jack. You care about people. We trust you.”

“And if I mess up?” Jack asked, his voice impossibly small for such a powerful being. He closed his eyes, a slow blink, and Dean knew what memory was playing behind his eyelids. The thought of it made Dean hesitate, but only for a moment.

“Well, you have us,” Dean said simply, walking up to Jack with none of Sam’s careful movements. Jack didn’t move away. “That’s what family is for, right? To help you fix your mistakes, with only a little bit of complaining.”

In an instant, Dean found himself with his arms full of crying, overgrown child. Jack had pulled Sam and Dean towards him, burying himself in the space between their chests. It was a strange feeling. Dean could feel Jack humming with energy – with the infinite possibilities of the universe – but he could also feel the very human tears and snot beginning to soak through his shirt. Jack may have been God, but he was still a kid. Their kid.

Dean let his hand rest on Jack’s head, rubbing in aimless, comforting circles. He felt his fingers snag in the odd strand of hair, still a little matted from the earlier fight. Divine, yet still imperfect. Human. _Jack_.

Sam was the first to pull away, awkwardly extricating his long limbs from the hug. He kept his hand on Jack’s shoulder, though, firm and reassuring. “Let’s go home,” he said, and Dean would never get tired of hearing that.

And so, God climbed into the backseat of the Impala. As they drove off towards home, God politely requested to listen a local pop music station, for a job well done. And even though he could easily make it so, he waited until Dean turned the dial himself with only minimal grumbling. They drove on.

~*~

Jack’s next act as God of the new world was carried out the next morning. As he sat at the table eating cereal, Sam stumbled into the kitchen feeling barely alive, instinctively telling him to take it easy and mumbling something about ruining his teeth. Jack laughed, the most joyful and carefree sound the bunker had heard in months, and Sam could only sigh fondly in response.

“Yeah, right, nevermind,” Sam said, sinking into the chair across from Jack at the table. “Guess you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Jack replied, shovelling another spoonful of cookies and milk into his mouth. Coming from anyone else it would’ve sounded sarcastic, but Jack still radiated sincerity. Some things, it seemed, never changed.

They sat in comfortable silence for awhile, the only sounds the scrape of Jack’s spoon against his bowl and the crunch of cereal, until even those had faded away. Sam supposed this was what early mornings must feel like for normal people, a time of quiet where nothing yet is expected of you. The world was still groggy, not yet awake, and Sam could think of absolutely nothing he should be doing. It was strange. It was freeing.

“Sam,” Jack said quietly. Sam looked up to find Jack’s eyebrows knitted together, tense and thoughtful. He didn’t look up from his now-empty bowl. “How much is it okay to fix?”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jack made a small, frustrated noise. “I want to fix what Chuck did, but I’m sure where I’m supposed to stop.” He finally looked up, and the eyes that met Sam’s were pained. “It was easy enough bringing back everyone that disappeared from this world, but what about everyone else? What about the people from the other worlds? What about the people he killed before that? What about the people killed by the ghosts?” Jack was clutching at his temples, shaking his head slowly as if plagued by some unheard noise. “If you go back far enough, every bad thing that’s ever happened is his fault. How much am I supposed to fix? What if something goes wrong?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Sam assured him. He carefully grabbed Jack’s wrists, lowering his arms back down to the table. Sam left a hand on Jack’s forearm, giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to figure everything out right now. You can take your time. I’ll help you.”

They moved to the main table in the library, where the names of their family were etched into the wood. Jack and Sam decided to start with people who had been directly taken out by Chuck in his most recent return to Earth. They cross-referenced Sam’s records of the hunters from the other world and news stories of recent disappearances with Jack’s vast knowledge and the prayers he heard from grieving loved ones.

Neither of them spoke of Castiel, at least for the time being. Sam was almost scared to ask, as if hearing that bringing him back would be impossible would make his death real. If Jack could control the Empty now, surely he would’ve brought it up himself. He didn’t, though, and so Sam didn’t push, Cas’ absence hanging fragile in the air between them, hope ready the shatter at the mention of his name.

Nevertheless, they carried on with their work. After a couple hours and a few snaps of Jack’s fingers, the world felt a bit fuller, a bit brighter. Despite everything, God smiled.

~*~

Jack had instantly taken a shine to Miracle. Unfortunately for him, though, the feeling wasn’t mutual. Dogs were perceptive, and Dean suspected Miracle sensed that Jack was more than he appeared. Maybe the dog remembered the last time he’d had a run-in with God. Regardless of the reason, it meant that Jack was now sitting cross-legged on Dean’s bedroom floor, keeping his distance and trying to look as unthreatening as possible. Miracle laid in his dog bed in the corner, eyeing him warily. Jack had a small handful of treats, intermittently tossing them to Miracle and scooting himself a little closer along the floor whenever it seemed like he had gotten comfortable with the current distance between them.

Dean looked up from the photographs he had scattered over his bed when he heard yet another _snap_ as Miracle caught one of Jack’s treats out of the air. He sighed, and while he sounded tired, he was still mostly fond.

“Can’t you just,” Dean suggested “I don’t know, _make_ the dog like you? You’re God.”

Jack turned to shoot him a withering look, the effect somewhat diminished by his chronic baby face, and the fact that he was still sitting on the bare floor. “That would be cheating, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ , my mistake.”

“Dogs have free will,” Jack said, casually, like it was a basic fact of life. He turned back to look at Miracle. “Just like you and me.”

“Wait,” Dean paused, mid-shuffle in the stack of polaroids in his hands “if dogs have free will, does that mean they can…?”

“Go to Heaven or Hell?” Jack supplied, not taking his eyes off Miracle as he threw him another treat “Yes, of course.”

“…or Hell?”

Jack turned back with an awkward smile, the kinds where the corners of his mouth didn’t even turn up, staying pressed in a firm line. “Best not to think about it, Dean.”

Dean shook his head, physically dispelling the thought. “Fair enough, I guess.” He began to flip through the photos again. The movement caught Jack’s eyes and he turned himself around to face the bed.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just some old photos.” Dean set the ones he was holding down and gestured to the rest, scattered around him on the sheets. Taking this as permission to look, Jack shifted onto his knees, forearms resting on the edge of mattress.

The photos on the bed spanned decades. Some, like the stack of poloroids, were old and discoloured, yellowing at the edges. Others were fuzzy and pixelated, relics from time before phones had touch screens. Dean remembered Sam having to go through the arduous process of transferring photos from their small flip phones to his brick of a laptop, then onto a USB that they brought into the next Wal-Mart they passed on the road – all for a low-resolution picture of some occult symbol for their notes or, more rarely, some picture of a stolen moment of joy while on the road.

Dean watched as Jack’s eyes roved over every picture, his face pinched with grief when he saw the odd face he recognized. Mary, looking just the same as he had known her, despite her staring back from a picture even older than Dean was, Bobby, not the Bobby he had known but Bobby all the same, Cas –

Jack closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes again, looking up at Dean in askance.

“Dean,” he said carefully, eyes involuntarily flitting back towards a picture of Castiel. He was dressed in his usual outfit and sitting at a table in the bunker library, looking unimpressed about having his picture taken while he was trying to read. “What happened to Cas when – when you went to Death’s library?”

“I told you,” Dean replied, voice thick. He didn’t look at Jack, instead pretending to inspect an unrelated photograph. “He sacrificed himself to save me. The Empty got him.” Dean didn’t elaborate further, picking up another photo with forced casualness.

“But what about his deal?” Dean looked at Jack in surprise. For a moment, Dean felt that familiar anger rise up into his throat, bitter and choking. Despite Jack’s infinite power, the boy still recoiled a little, cowed “I’m sorry.”

Dean deflated in an instant, letting out a sigh that left him only tired and empty. “No, it’s fine.”

He picked up a different picture of Cas from the bed. The angle was awkward and the picture itself was so blurry it was barely recognizable as him. Cas had accidentally taken it while trying to figure out the front-facing camera on his first smartphone. Dean had found it eventually, forgotten, when going through Cas’ phone looking for a photo from another case, and had quietly sent it to himself to tease Cas about later.

“I’m omniscient now, but I still have to _choose_ to know things,” Jack said, seemingly apropos of nothing. He gave a small laugh, but it rang a little too false. “Even God can’t know everything at all times. It would give me a headache.” Jack hesitated on his next words, looking sad. “If you don’t want me to know what happened, I promise not to look.”

“Thanks, kid.” Dean set down the photograph and dragged his hands down his face, trying to school his features. They stayed there a moment, not speaking, in patient silence. Miracle, missing his steady stream of treats, had apparently worked up the courage to get and up and approach Jack himself. He nudged at the elbow resting on the bed with a low whine, but Jack paid him no notice. Finally, Dean spoke.

“He told me that… he loved me,” Dean said with deliberate evenness, not letting his voice waiver beyond a careful monotone “He told me that I was a good man, that I was the reason he cared about people the way he did, and that… he loved me. That he’d loved me for a long time and he finally said it to save me.”

Jack couldn’t keep the look of confusion off his face. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said hastily, seeming to know it was probably the right response, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to say first “but I don’t understand why that would summon the Empty. Of course he loved you. Cas told me he loved me all the time.”

Dean clenched his jaw. “It’s not really the same thing, kid.”

Jack looked at him like he was an idiot, and in any other circumstances it probably would’ve made Dean laugh. “I know that,” he said matter-of-factly in the way only a kid could, self-assured yet naïve. “He loved you in a different way than he loved me. Different from Sam, too. I just don’t understand why you didn’t know, why he hadn’t told you. You should tell people that you love them.”

“It’s complicated,” was all Dean could manage to say without losing control of his voice. Jack gave him a dubious look, and Dean felt suddenly torn between dread at explaining all of his personal hang-ups to an innocent child, and the sheer absurdity of explaining them to _God_. “Look, Jack. There was always some world-ending thing going on as long as we’d known each other, always something more important that figuring our shit out.”

Jack looked doubtful, but thankfully didn’t press further. “I’m sorry,” he said again, finally returning his attention back to Miracle to give Dean some much-needed space. As Miracle gratefully lapped up the rest of treats from his hand, Jack spoke up again, his back still to Dean from where he sat on the floor. “If you could talk to him now, what would you say?”

Dean finally let his tears fall, but made sure his voice remained steady. “There’s no point thinking about it now.”

~*~

As time went on, Jack spent more and more time in Heaven, slowly rebuilding it into a real paradise, just like his mother and Castiel always knew he would. Still, no matter how involved he became in the construction, he was a good kid, and always made it home for supper.

Sometimes it was just Jack, Sam, and Dean, but more and more often, they were joined by others. Hunters would pass through – looking for information on a case, coming to lend a hand, or just visiting for the hell of it – and stay for dinner, usually eager to engage in the novelty of telling stories about crazier days to God himself.

Eileen taught Jack some sign language once, when she spent the night over with Sam on her way to her next case. Jack seemed to let himself learn instead of just _choosing_ to know it, the two of them laughing when clumsy fingers derailed their already halting conversation. Another night, Charlie and Stevie came by, staying to teach them all to play Dungeons and Dragons, apparently fulfilling a promise the other Charlie had made to Dean, the only expectation left behind from this world’s Charlie that she seemed eager to accept. Bobby passed through sometimes, always eager to make use of the library. Jody and Donna visited regularly, with whatever combination of their wayward children they could manage to drag away from their responsibilities for the night. On one memorable occasion, Garth and Bess had arrived unannounced, with all three of their children and a dozen containers of food in tow, apparently forced to drastic measures when Dean had ignored their calls to schedule his next dental appointment.

One night, just over a month into their newfound freedom, Claire and Kaia came by just the two of them. They had been hunting together and knew the value of a home-cooked meal and a bed-bug-free bed enough not to pass up the opportunity while they were nearby. After dinner, Sam had disappeared into the bunker with Kaia, happy to teach the new hunter some skills while she had access to a shooting range. Dean had grabbed another beer and settled in the library for the evening, idly listening to Jack and Claire make conversation at the other end of the table. Jack was talking enthusiastically about his plans for Heaven, and even Claire’s usual air of deliberate detachment couldn’t stop her from getting swept up in his excitement a little.

“That sounds great, Jack,” said Claire, genuine but with an edge of sadness to it “Look, um, I don’t know if this is against the rules or what but… when you go back next, do you think you could tell my parents that I’m doing okay?”

“Of course I can,” he assured her with the same level of excitement in his voice, before lowering it to a conspiratorial whisper “Don’t worry about the rules. I visit my mother all the time.”

Dean didn’t have to look to know that Claire was giving him one of her rare smiles. It was impossible not to in the face of Jack at his most earnest. “Thanks, and,” she paused, suddenly awkward, “I’m, uh, sorry to hear about your dad.”

The air in the library was suddenly so thick Dean found it hard to breathe. He wondered if Jack and Claire could feel it, too. “Thank you,” Jack said, as effortlessly as ever, despite the air choking Dean’s own lungs “and I’m sorry, too. I know he was kind of like a dad to you.”

“Yeah, I guess he was the next closest thing,” Claire made a complicated sound that ended up sounding the most like a laugh “Thanks, Jack.”

Silence settled over the library, but before Dean could even begin to wonder if the heaviness in the air was beginning to ease, Claire spoke again.

“I don’t know how any of this works but,” Claire, clumsily “you’re God right? What’s stopping you from, y’know, just –”

“Do you kids want a drink while I’m up?” Dean interrupted, suddenly downing the rest of his drink in one pull and standing up with a deliberate scrape of his chair against the floor. He looked towards them, innocently gesturing with his empty bottle as if he hadn’t been listening to their conversation. Claire narrowed her eyes at him, clearly suspicious, but let him get away with it.

“Finally willing to admit I’m a legal adult, then?” she teased, flashing him a smirk.

“As far as I’m concerned, anyone born after 1990 is still a baby,” he said, walking back towards the kitchen “But I gave Jack a beer when he was three days old and I can’t play favourites with my children.”

Dean didn’t have to turn his head to know Claire was rolling her eyes. “Yeah, sure _dad_ ,” she called after him as he disappeared around the corner.

Alone in the kitchen, without the tension in the air keeping him upright, Dean immediately collapsed against the counter, gripping it with shaking hands.

~*~

“Is it selfish that I want to bring Cas back?” Jack asked Sam one night, after dinner. They were in the library setting up a board game, waiting for Dean rejoin them with drinks and snacks. Sam paused in his sorting of the Monopoly money as the memory of Jack and Castiel playing Connect Four rose unbidden to his mind. He clenched his jaw, willing the image away.

“No, it’s not selfish, Jack,” he assured him gently. He tried to meet Jack’s eyes, but he was fiddling with the tiny metal car he’d taken from the box. “We all want him back, too.”

“You do?” Jack said, looking up in surprise. Sam tried not to let his own surprise show on his face.

“Of course we do,” Sam said patiently “It’s normal. We miss him.”

“Then why did you never ask me to bring him back?” Jack's voice hitched like he was about to cry, and Sam tried desperately to grasp at any thread in this rapidly unravelling conversation.

“Because we were afraid, Jack,” Sam said, surprised by the answer even as it left his own mouth “We figured that if it was possible, you would’ve done it. If we asked and you said you couldn’t…” Sam sighed. “I don’t think Dean could’ve handled that. It was easier, not knowing.”

“I thought Dean didn’t want to see Cas again.”

Sam frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Dean said it was _complicated_.”

Sam let out a breath through his nose, a humourless laugh. “It always is, with them.”

Jack didn’t speak for a moment, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Wanting to finish this conversation before Dean came back, Sam pressed on. “Listen, Jack. I know you worry about doing the right thing, about not abusing your power.” He reached across the table to place a reassuring hand on Jack’s shoulder “But we meant it when we said that you’re a good kid with a good heart. You deserve to be happy, too.”

Jack’s expression was pained. “How is that fair?” he demanded “There are so many people that want the people they love to come back. How can I give myself an exception? How is that fair?”

The voice of John Winchester rose unbidden to Sam’s mind, saying _Life isn’t fair_ , just like he had when he and Dean were kids. It hadn’t been a good answer then, and it wasn’t a good answer now. Sam forced it down. “It isn’t about fairness, Jack. It’s natural to want to do everything you can for your family. God knows – well, _you_ know, now – me and Dean have broken a few rules doing the same.” Sam laughed, sounding both bitter and nostalgic. “It’s no more wrong than when you brought him back to life the first time.”

Jack smiled slightly in response, but he still looked unsure. Sam knew he must still be thinking of all the other beings left in the Empty – not to mention in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory – condemned to suffering for not having a direct relationship with the new God. A sudden idea came to Sam.

“You’re redesigning the afterlife, right?” he asked. Jack nodded, uncertain where this was going. “Well, who says you have to limit yourself to Heaven? I think more than humans deserve a happy ending, don’t you think?”

A smile began to tug at the corner of Jack’s mouth. “That would be nice.”

“It would be a lot of work, though,” Sam continued, “And there’s not a lot of angels left.” He shook his head slowly in an exaggerated performance of resignation that only made Jack’s smile broaden. “You could make more, but it might be good to bring back some that are familiar with the Empty, too. Maybe even an angel that’s been to every afterlife – a real expert.”

Jack grinned and his joy was radiant. _Godlike_ , Sam’s mind supplied. Jack was more worthy of the word than Chuck had ever been. Still giddy with happiness, Jack hastily made his goodbyes and apologies, disappearing from the room only an instant before Dean finally returned, carrying one too many plates of overcooked nachos.

~*~

Dean was surprised to hear the metal whine of the bunker door as he walked down the hall to the library. They hadn’t been expecting company. He was even more surprised to hear Jack’s voice echo through the building – God had no use for doors.

“I brought a guest for dinner!” Jack declared excitedly.

As Dean rounded the corner, passing the threshold to the war room, he saw Jack. The boy was leaning against the railing at the top of the stairs, a grin splitting his face nearly in two. Behind him, hovering in the doorway, was a familiar figure in a tan overcoat.

The world seemed to grind to a halt, then. The two of them stared at each other, neither willing to move first. Silence began to settle around them, causing Jack’s smile to falter, worry creasing his brow. He looked about to say something – apologize, maybe – when Castiel finally spoke.

“Hello, Dean,” he said simply.

With that, the spell was broken. Dean broke into a sprint, taking the bunker steps two at a time, like when he had received that fake phone call telling him Cas was just outside the door, hurt but _alive_. He was here now, alive and well, and Dean had his arms wrapped around the angel before either of them could say another word. Cas didn’t waste any time reciprocating the hug, hands fisted in the back of Dean’s flannel shirt, face pressed into Dean’s shoulder. Dean could feel wetness against his neck, the feeling foreign yet familiar. He pulled Cas closer.

“Stupid son of a bitch,” he said instead of a greeting, and he heard Cas’ laugh vibrate against his chest, both relieved and pained.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas said, sombrely as ever, but Dean was already shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, too.” Dean _felt_ Cas’ look of confusion before he saw it, Cas finally pulling away to look at him questioningly.

In that moment, Dean could think of plenty of things to be sorry for. Sorry for putting Cas in danger in Death’s Library. Sorry for pushing Jack to sacrifice himself. Sorry for taking so long to tell Cas he’d forgiven him. _Sorry, sorry, sorry_.

“I love you,” was what came out instead, unbidden. His voice was rough and raspy, like the words had clawed their way up the back of his throat. “And I’m sorry I made you think that I – that this was something you couldn’t have.”

Cas’ face relaxed, eyes wet and mouth going soft. It was just like the last time he’d seen Cas, and it made Dean’s heart seize from the memory. Before he could talk himself out of it, Dean surged forward, determined to give this confession a better ending before his shame could catch up with him.

Cas was a gentle kisser. The motions were new to him, even if the ache behind them was a decade old by now. He kissed Dean slowly, like he was savouring it, a chocolate left in the back of the mouth to melt on its own time, smooth and sweet.

Dean let him, for a moment, but Dean hadn’t spent so long being repressed just to peck Cas on the lips like some cheesy sitcom wife. He brought his hands to the sides of Cas’ face, feeling his stubble scratch against his palms, and tried to pull him impossibly closer. Dean was a drowning man, intent on surviving just from the air in Cas’ lungs. He wanted, somehow, for them to occupy the same space. He wanted to swallow Cas whole.

“I hope that’s not how you’re welcoming everyone back, Cas,” Sam said.

Dean and Cas jumped apart slightly, not having heard him come in. Cas narrowed his eyes at Sam, looking equal parts exasperated and fond. Dean looked over to see Jack still standing at the top of the stairs with them, the _I-just-caught-my-parents-kissing_ face new and hilarious upon the face of God himself. He refused to meet Dean’s eyes, but he was smiling.

“We really missed you, man,” Sam said, looking up at them from below.

“I got that impression,” Cas replied, deadpan, from his position in Dean’s arms. Sam let out a huff of laughter, and it was like a dam had burst. The bunker echoed with laughter until their cheeks hurt from smiling, and then a little longer still.

~*~

Jack and Castiel stayed for dinner, and for every dinner after, splitting their time between two different kinds of Heaven. Sometimes, it was just the four of them, filling out the tiny table in the kitchen. Other times, familiar faces would join them, and they would migrate to the long tables in the library, Miracle’s nails tapping impatiently against the wood as he paced around looking for handouts.

One day, of course, these dinners would no longer be possible. The Winchesters were human, and human lives were fleeting. One of these dinners would eventually be their last.

Jack didn’t think about that, though. Death wasn’t the end, not for any of them. Certainly not for _any_ of their friends, human or not, when he was done shaping the new afterlife. Jack looked forward to showing his family their much-deserved eternity and he knew, with all the certainty of a God, that he was the luckiest kid in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic! Even at the height of my teenage superwholock days, I never got around to posting spn fic... feels oddly satisfying to complete the trifecta in 20-fucking-21 haha
> 
> If you want to join me in enjoying spn behind several layers of protective irony feel free to find me on [tumblr](https://raziraphale.tumblr.com).


End file.
